


Jet Black

by theackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, After The Angels Fall, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angel Castiel, Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean, Dean Loves Pie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Physical Abuse, Plot Twists, Protective Dean Winchester, Top Dean, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theackles/pseuds/theackles
Summary: 2017 and Angels are used as slaves, ever since they fell 4 years ago. Dean Winchester keeps a blind eye to it all until he finds a lost, thin, and scared Angel with jet black feathers going through his trash.(Very angsty plot - bear with me!)





	1. Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I'm here sporting a super hurt/comfort, angsty plot for you including Winged!Cas and a very protective Dean. Do not read if you don't like mean John Winchester. Because there's a lot of it. 
> 
> PLEAAASEEE bear with me because the first chapter is slow. Chapter two and onwards will be much more interesting. Please forgive if there is a stray chapter here and there which is boring or is just information. I haven't written in a while so please excuse me if I'm rusty :)

Ever since 2013, the world has been blessed with Angels. Things from the bible – the ones you’re supposed to bow down to. Wings with different colors and shades, amazing powers and abilities, human faces. But, the world did not see them as a blessing. It saw them as something different – something strange, interesting, and peculiar.

At first, Angels took the upper hand. They used their power and fought back against the human’s measly weapons. But somehow, the humans got the upper hand. Soon, Angels had collars riddled with symbols so they couldn’t escape. Circus’s introduced them to their show. Archangels were being shown off in zoos like wild beasts.

Dean Winchester was against it all. He remembered the night he thought the stars were falling just like yesterday.

There was a clap of thunder, a strike of lightning, and then small yellow orbs began falling from the sky. It simply looked like a meteor shower. Until big, winged creatures landed on the soil and engraved deep holes into the ground still there today, covered over with grass.

The market Dean used to go to as a kid was full of life and excitement, old couples selling the veggies and fruits from their farms several miles away from town, kids running around playing with a few dogs, free samples of ice cream in the hot summer heat or hot cocoa in cold winter air. Now, a bitter chill bites 38-year-old Dean Winchester’s nose. He pulls his coat around his body a little bit tighter, hoping to keep a little warmth to his bones as he walks through the empty outdoor tables of the farmers market.

He walks up the stairs to the indoor tables, and rubs his dry hands together when the warmth hits him. He glances around. Almost every booth has an Angel chained to the table, collar on. They all look like abused animals, but no one is saying anything because typically, that’s how you’re expected to treat an Angel. They’re treated just like slaves.

He glances down at his list, scribbled on a napkin – things for spaghetti – tomatoes, garlic, some meat, a couple loaves of Mrs. Sally’s homemade bread. Dean loves to cook things from scratch. He sighs and makes his way into the halls of the markets.

One of the first booths is the tomato stand, filled with all different types of tomatoes in various shapes and colors. He picks up a large heirloom and looks at its greens and reds, checking for bruises.

“It’s $5 a pound,” the old man grunts, looking up from a newspaper. Dean smiles and nods. He grabs a paper bag and puts a few into it. He goes to lay his bag on the small scale but a worn hand grabs his bag before he can do it.

“Let me.” A shaken voice demands. Dean looks up at the Angel who had been sitting on the floor behind the booth. It’s a woman, with brown hair and green eyes. She looks very tired, and hungry. Dean nods at her, and lets her. It weighs just over a pound, so he pays for it. In the back of his head he wishes he could buy another and let the woman eat something healthy, but as soon as he takes his bag from her hands, the man jerks the leash attached to her collar and makes her sit back on the dirty floor.

Dean has nothing he can say. People who treat Angels like actual people are frowned upon. There are only a handful of Angel safety homes across the whole globe, and the closest one from Lawrence, is New Hampshire. He thinks there might be one in California, too.

Dean finishes shopping. He can hardly stand being out in public much anymore. The abuse towards Angels has only gotten worse. He doesn’t understand it. Even the friends and family he has disagrees with him. They barely believe they’re actual Angels – more like they’re some misconception between the Mothman and a human.

He slides back into his Impala, and starts it. She rumbles to life, and the heater comes on. He sits and lets his fingers warm up before he grips the wheel and pulls out of the parking lot. The drive home is long enough for him to think about how he’s going to make his famous spaghetti before he pulls into his driveway.

His house is nothing special – three bedrooms, a single bathroom, a roomy kitchen and a living room big enough for a sectional and a coffee table. He lays all his groceries on the bar between the kitchen and the living room, shrugging his jacket off and laying it over one of the chairs. He’s got several friends and family coming over for dinner tonight. It’s a Sunday, when everyone he knows gathers around just to enjoy each other and talk. He thinks his mom might crash in one of the guest rooms for the night. He sighs.

He starts on the food. He’s gotten so good at this complicated recipe that it’s easy now. It doesn’t take him long to get everything prepared and the noodles boiling. He smears some homemade garlic butter on some rolls and throws them into the oven. By the time everything has no more than 10 minutes left, a soft knock hits the front door before it opens.

A gust of cold air hits the warm insides of the house. Mary Winchester smiles shyly; blond hair curled every so slightly and the lightest dusting of makeup across her cheeks. She carries a pie, and hands it to Dean with a smile.

“Took it out of the oven just before I left the house, so it’d be warm for you. I knew you’d want a piece before dinner.” She winks. Dean grins – she knows her son too well. “Your dad is outside taking a business call.”

“Thanks, mom.” He pecks her cheek as she enters the doorway, and shuts the door behind her. “Dinners almost done. I figure everyone else will be here in a few.”

Mary nods her head, and heads to the kitchen. Dean already knows she’s going to take dinner into her own hands. And it doesn’t surprise him when she comes out with plates, forks, and knives –the whole nine – and sets up the dinner table without a word.

Dean has enough time to pick up around the house before the rest of the crew barges into the door.

Charlie, and her girlfriend Dorothy, Sam and his wife Amelia, with that round belly protruding between her unbuttoned coat. His dad comes in last, beer bottle in one hand and two six packs clinging to the other.

Dean gives everyone the hugs they’re all looking for when they come through the door. Amelia gives a soft side hug, with her hand around her stomach.

“How’s Emma doing in there?” Dean asks, gesturing to Amelia.

She smiles, “Getting stronger everyday. My doctor thinks I might have to have a C- section before my due date.” She shrugs, “I don’t care, as long as she’s here safe and sound.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dean nods, giving her a pat on the back. “Well, lets get some food in you both.”

Dinner goes smoothly, unsurprisingly. John consistently talks about how Dean needs to call Mr. Crowley about setting up his own office. Dean lets it slide off his shoulders.

John Winchester works at a business that is top notch at selling and receiving Angels. He makes big money, trading one Angel for another, and helping clients find the perfect one for whatever it is they had in mind. Dean finds it sickening. The world doesn’t care what you need your Angel for or why. All it cares about is the money it brings in. Mary doesn’t particularly agree with the business, either. They don’t talk about it often.

After dinner, everyone migrates to the living room to keep talking and watch reruns of the football game. Dean picks up here and there until he ends up with two full bags of trash. He sighs, and ties them up.

“Be right back – just running the trash.” He mentions as he slides out the door. He groans when he realizes it’s down pouring the rain.

The trashcans are at the end of his driveway, right behind a few groupings of bushes. He makes it about halfway down the sidewalk when he hears the scuttling and rummaging coming from the bins.

He swears, “Damnit. Fucking raccoons,” he drops the bags where they are and marches to the cans, and kicks one, “Get out of here!” He barks, and just as the can falls over, he’s met with something much different than the pesky raccoons. He wipes the water from his eyes.

Dark hair. Skin and bones. Jet black feathers. An Angel.


	2. Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive feedback!! :) My goal was updating Monday Wednesday and Friday but I couldn't finish the chapter yesterday so I had to post today. My goal is to get the next up tomorrow so I'm on schedule. :)

Dean can't believe his eyes.

A fucking Angel is standing right in front of him, crouched down low and tense. He's dripping wet from the rain pouring buckets from the sky. His dark raven hair is stuck to his forehead and his eyes are tired. His wings almost blend into the night with how dark they are. They spread slowly and threateningly. The Angel doesn't dare say a thing, so Dean does.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says calmly. "I thought you were a raccoon. I didn't mean to scare you."

The Angel doesn't do anything. He only watches Dean's every little move.

"Look, I'm not gonna make you a slave or anything, I'm a good guy." Dean tries to reassure him. "I've never owned an Angel in my life."

The Angel grits its teeth, "Like I haven't heard that one before." A rough voice growls out. It sends chills down Dean's spine. "Why should I believe you?"

Before Dean can respond, thunder rumbles the sky, and lighting lights up the night. He watches as the Angel's wings flare up and poof out. They're almost as wide as Dean's whole house. But he hears a snap as they spread, and the Angel cries out in pain, bringing his left wing down to cradle the joint. Dean watches him pull his hand away and sees blood, dark and thick, being washed away by the rain.

"You're hurt." Dean says dumbly.

"Of course I'm hurt!" The Angel snaps, gritting his teeth together in pain as he holds the joint and the heavy wing in his hands.

"You're an Angel - can't you heal it?" Dean asks, utterly confused. He knows Angels have grace that allows them to heal even the deepest and bloodiest wounds.

"No," The Angel sounds utterly lost and sad, "I can't. Not anymore." Suddenly the Angel hisses out in pain again when his wing twitches.

"Okay, look. This is how it's gonna go," Dean demands. "You're gonna come sit in my house and dry off. We're going to get that wing taken care of." The Angel's eyes snap to Dean's uneasily. He doesn't argue, though. Dean feels like he needs to keep going anyways. "With you out here with a broken wing like that, with no powers, someone a whole lot worse than me is going to find you out here. And they're not going to offer to help you."

The Angel is still for a moment, then nods. "Okay." He says so quietly, Dean almost can't make it out over the rain.

Just as Dean is helping the guy up, he realizes he's gotta figure out how to get him inside without the whole group of people in his house that hate Angels knowing. For a moment, his mind is blank. But he knows he can't leave the poor Angel out here for someone else to get ahold of. He knows he can't save them all, but now he's got the chance to save at least one of them.

Then he remembers - his back door that leads to his finished basement. He maneuvers the Angel around the side of the house where they walk down a small set of stairs. Dean's house is situated on a hill, so the basement is just like a lower story. He mainly uses it for hobbies, like his pool table and his small collection of BB guns and some of his real guns.

The Angel hisses and grunts in pain almost every step of the way, trying to cradle his hurt wing while grabbing onto Dean's button up for dear life. After a few more grudging steps, they make it to the back door. Dean manages to push it open, and the warmth of the house hits his icy body, completely soaked from the rain. As soon as the Angel gets under the roof, he lets go of Dean and slumps to the floor to cradle his wing and mess with the joint. Each time his hand comes away with blood, fresh and continuously flowing.

"Stop touching it," Dean tells him. He grabs a towel from the bathroom and hands it to the Angel. "Keep pressure on it. I have a few guests upstairs I need to send home. I'll come back down in a few, okay?" The Angel nods, unsure as he presses the towel to his wound. He hisses in pain. Dean sighs and makes a comment to himself to bring the guy a whole bottle of Advil down for the pain.

Once Dean gets upstairs, all the attention is turned to him.

"Oh, sweetie." Mary sighs. "You're soaked. What took so long?"

Dean grits his teeth, and lies. "Damn raccoons eating from the trash."

"When are you finally gonna take your pistol out there and shoot those damn things?" John barks. "They're going to keep coming until you fix the problem."

"I know, dad." Dean sighs. "I think I'm gonna start getting ready to get some shut eye. Now I have to add a hot shower to my list." He gestures towards his soaked clothes. Thankfully, everyone takes the hint.

"Sorry about the raccoons, dude." Sam slaps his shoulder before he leaves. "I'll see ya next weekend."

"Okay, drive safe guys," Dean gives Amelia a side hug as they leave. Sam promises, and leaves the door open for their dad who is on the phone once more. Dean hardly gives him a goodbye, as he walks out the door without a second glance.

His mom stays put, giving him a warm smile. "I promised I'd stay and help clean up." Dean smiles, and nods. As Mary starts to clean up the mess in the living room, Dean jumps in a shower that lasts all of two minutes.

He throws on enough to be decent and stops for a moment. The Angel downstairs is in nothing but ratty sweat pants. Dean sighs and grabs a new, clean pair and a long sleeved shirt that he can say goodbye to because of the Angels wings. Before he heads down, he goes into the kitchen and throws together a small plate of left over spaghetti before his mother puts it away. He trudges downstairs with the first aid kit, food and the clothes.

The Angel is curled up in the corner, shivering. The towel Dean had given him is soaked in water and blood. The Angel is petting his hurt wing almost comfortingly, eyes shut and head laid against the corner. For a split moment, Dean can spot the scars on his neck before the Angel senses his presence and his eyes snap open and his wings try to flare again. He cries out in agony, and the blood starts to drip in the floor again.

“I brought you some dinner,” Dean says hesitantly. “I don't know if you eat or not but I figured, what the hell.” Dean shrugs his shoulders, and steps off the last stair. The Angel eyes his suspiciously. Dean can see his nostrils flaring slightly, trying to sniff the food from the other side of the room. “I also brought you some dry clothes, and I'm gonna patch your wing up.”

“You can't,” the Angel says, voice hardly used and broken.

“Why not? You're gonna bleed out in my basement if I don't get it wrapped soon.”

“You can't fix it,” the Angel swears. “I've tried.”

“Well, now I'm trying, buddy.” Dean says, no room for interruptions. He comes closer to the Angel and pulls up a chair in front of him. “Let me see that joint. I know a little more about Angels than you might think. Maybe not a whole lot, but I know enough to mend a broken bone.”

The Angel eyes him hesitantly, and slowly turns his body so his back is facing Dean. Dean is mesmerized with how his wings are melded into the skin of his back. During his examination, he spots even more scars on the skin between each wing. He tries not the pay too much attention to them. Only God knows what this Angel has been through.

Dean inspects the wing, his hand slowly getting covered in blood the more he messes with it. It's a basic broken bone, and it seems like it was a sprain at first and when he flared his wing outside it finished the job. Dean grabs the alcohol with his cleanest hand and opens it up.

“This might sting.” He warns, as he drizzles the alcohol straight over the opened wound. The Angel hisses, tensing up all over. Dean even feels the thin, lean muscle going across his wing tense underneath his hand.

He blots away the blood with a few cotton balls and puts some ointment on it for the pain. He grabs the gauze and starts to roll it tight, trying to keep the joint in place where it should be. If this doesn't work enough to get it even started to heal, Dean will have to take him to one of those Angel hospitals to get it looked at by a professional. He doesn't want it to come to that, because then he will have to have papers saying he owns the guy and has the rights to bring him in.

The Angel hisses and growls the more and more Dean rolls it. He finishes it and tapes everything down. “Try not to move it.” Dean tells him. “If you want, you can wash off in the bathroom before putting new clothes on.”

The Angel doesn't move for a moment, and shakes his head. Dean nods, unseen, and stands. “Let me cut this shirt for you so it'll fit over your wings.”

“You're giving me clothes?” The Angel eyes him, eyes tired and surprised.

“Of course.” Dean says, looking at him like it was the dumbest question he's ever heard. “I told you. I'm not here to hurt you. I've seen enough Angels being hurt in the past 4 years to suit me several life times.”

“I don't want to burden you,”

“Look-“ Dean starts to say, then stops. “What's your name?”

The Angel gulps and fiddles with one of the long feathers on the bottom of his wing. “Castiel.”

Dean nods. “Okay. Look Castiel, if you were going to burden me I wouldn't have offered to help you. So suck it up, put this shirt on, and these pants and boxers, eat that spaghetti and don't move than damn wing.” Dean’s tone leaves no room for an argument. Castiel shuts his mouth and nods, nimble fingers grabbing the shirt Dean customized just for his wigs. He pulls it over his head and gets one wing through fine, but struggles with the other.

Dean grabs his hurt wing and gently pulls the shirt over it, careful not to move the wing. The shirt is big on Castiel, but it makes him look a lot better than he did before.

“I'm going to head to bed. I'll come check on that wing first thing in the morning.” Dean tells him as he starts up the stairs.

Castiel is quiet, until Dean goes to step inside the door to the main floor.

“Thank you,” Castiel says so quiet Dean can hardly hear him.

Dean nods, “You're welcome. I'm Dean, by the way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're down here then I hope you enjoyed!! Please leave a comment letting me know how it was, a kudos if you haven't already!! Thank you so much <333


	3. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the positive feedback :) Id like to put out there I've been writing this on Word on my iPhone so I'm sorry if there's little typos or maybe a comma instead of a period. I try to reread them but sometimes I look over things. :) 
> 
> Just as a comment, Mary and Sam are more okay with Angels and disagree with the abuse. Just so we clear that up. Sorry if anyone got confused. 
> 
> Make sure to leave lots of comments because I'm thinking about posting another chapter tonight and again on Friday. I'm ahead in the game and loving what's coming out of it. 
> 
> I'm also gonna make a playlist because I feel like I need to express my inspiration and give this story some music :) not sure when or if it will be posted but I'm gonna try 
> 
> Thank you hope you enjoy :)

Dean wakes up in the morning to a scream. It sits him straight up in the bed, and before he can get the sleep out of his eyes, he bolts downstairs.

Mary is holding one hand to her heart and the other clings to the railing of the stairs. Laundry is flung everywhere, and the basket is at the bottom of the stairs. Castiel is crouched in the corner, a look of defense and a snarl on his mouth. His wings are flared again, and blood is beginning to seep through the bandages.

“Wha- an Angel!?” Mary shouts, her heart practically beating out of her chest.

“Mom- I can explain,” Dean says. “Last night, those raccoons weren't actually raccoons. It was him.” Dean gestures to Castiel. “And his name is Castiel.”

“Dean,” Mary starts.

“Mom, I know. Trust me, I know. But his wing is broken pretty badly and he said he doesn't have powers. If not me, then someone else. But a lot worse.” Dean says, eyes pleading his mom.

Mary sighs, and looks down at Castiel who is glancing back and forth at both of them. Dean notices that the plate of spaghetti is empty. Apparently Angels do eat.

“Okay…fine. I get it. I would have done the same thing.” She admits. “But your father can't find out, Dean. I mean it. Who knows what he'll do.”

Dean doesn't want to face the truth, but she's right. His dad would take Castiel far away and sell him to the highest bidder. Dean nods, and slips past his mom to get to Castiel who has created a puddle in the floor with blood.

“I thought I told you to not move this wing.” Dean scolds quietly. Castiel shivers under him as Dean grabs his wing.

“I-I'm sorry.” Castiel is scared – Dean didn't mean for that to happen. “Please don't be angry.”

“I'm not.” Dean says quickly, “I just don't want to have to take you to the hospital.” He explains as he unwinds the bandage. He inspects it and finds if he just repeats his steps from last night that it should be better. “I'm going to get the first aid kit again, so I'll be right back.”

Dean shuffles past Mary who is trying to pick up the dirty clothes she dropped. She stops him before he passes. “Does he want food? I'll make breakfast,”

Dean nods, “Go ahead and make it. He's skin and bones.”

Mary nods back and picks up the last article of clothing and leaves the basket on the stairs to follow Dean.

“He really looks like he's been abused,” she mentions as she gets the carton of eggs out of the fridge.

“They all are, mom.” Dean grumbles. “I don't give a shit what dad says if he finds out. I can't help them all, so I'll be damned if I can't help this one. He's been through hell, and I can tell it just by looking at him.”

Mary gives Dean a look. “Let's just pray your father doesn't find out because there would be hell to pay.” Dean doesn't reply, because he knows it. John would rip Castiel right out of the safety in Dean's home. Dean sighs, and goes back downstairs once he gets what he needs.

Castiel is cradling his wing again, blood still dripping slowly from his wound.. Dean pulls up the same chair in front of Castiel and opens the kit.

Castiel turns without a word, head hung in shame. “I did not mean to scare your mother. I would understand if you wish for me to leave.” He says quietly.

“No, you're staying put.” Dean says. He repeats the process again, and begins wrapping the wound again. As he wraps, this time he notices what bad shape his wings are in. They're dull and matted together. They're not soft, they're very rough and almost sticky. “Your wings,” Dean starts. Castiel tenses beneath him. “They're real dirty.”

“I can't groom them myself, so what do you expect me to do?” Castiel snaps, suddenly hostile.

Dean stays calm. “Give me a list of everything I need and I'll groom them.”

Castiel tenses again, this time worse. He's rock solid beneath Dean's working fingers. “No.” He doesn't leave space for argument.

“Why not? If it needs done then I'll do it.”

“Because. Only Angels groom another's wings. Therefore you can't.”

“But I see grooming oil at the store all the time.” Dean argues. He sees commercials for it too. Kits, even. Everything you need. A brush, the oil, a lotion, a soap. Even fragrance.

“It's unnatural, and it stinks. To you humans it may smell sweet like jasmine or rosemary but to us Angels it smells rotten and sour.”

“Then what do Angels use?” Dean asks. He's determined to know. Castiels wings look uncomfortable, with feathers stuck to each other and tugging at the root.

“It's personal,” Castiel says, and leaves it at that.

“Alright, fine, but if I catch feathers coming off in clumps I'll do it anyways.” He threatens lightly. Castiel doesn't do anything beneath him as he finishes the bandage around the joint of his wing.

Just as he finishes, Mary calls that breakfast is ready.

“You finished your spaghetti last night, so are you hungry?” Dean asks as he stands, collecting he contents of the kit. Castiel nods, slightly.

“If you wish to share with me,”

Dean tries not to roll his eyes. “My treat. Come on.” He gestures, and heads up the stairs. It takes Castiel a moment to follow, with his nostrils flaring once he hits the main floor. It smells like fresh eggs and biscuits. Mary is already setting three plates up with forks and napkins when Dean gets to the dining room.

Castiel's wings take up the whole room. In the good lighting, they're matte black and thick. At the top, the feathers are thinner but there's more of them. Like fuzzies on the softest blanket, except everything is matted together with dirt and grime. Who knows how long Castiel has been on the run. Going by his wings, way too long.

Castiel's eyes shut when he smells the food. He almost relaxes for a moment. Mary gives a small smile to Dean when she notices it. She makes sure to give Castiel a little bit extra food than everyone else. He sure looks like he needs it.

Castiel digs in like he hasn't eaten in a year. Dean doesn't blame him, it's delicious. Once Castiel finishes the first plate, he has seconds. Mary doesn't mind filling his plate up again. He eats until he's full, and it satisfies something in Dean.

He always notices Angels who look a bit too thin and always eying food. But he can do nothing to satisfy their hunger, because they all have owners who are supposed to be responsible for that. The laws of owning an Angel aren't that bad in theory, but society doesn't care enough to call out those who treat them worse than the laws allow. Eventually everyone just started treating them like dirt despite what the laws say.

Castiel licks his lips and smiles kindly to Mary, then to Dean. “I thank you for the food. It was delicious. I haven't had a hot meal, besides last night,” he gestures to Dean, “in years.”

Dean tries not to get wide-eyed over the use of the word “years”. Dean's imagination roams as he thinks of what could have happened. He sees Castiel, scared and aggressive as he's put through companies to find an owner. He doesn't imagine that it took very long. His eyes are a frosty pale blue underneath the kitchen lighting. They're mesmerizing. His hair is such a deep brown it's almost black. He's got a straight nose and a round mouth. His eyes are questioning when they meet Dean's.

“Well, Castiel. Hopefully we put an end to that. We like to have three hot meals a day, and as long as you're under my roof you can have some, too.” He smiles towards the Angel. Castiel smiles back, and thanks him again. He almost looks like he's willing to get down on hands and knees to kiss Dean's feet and scrub the floor just to show how thankful he is. But Dean's sure he's done that before just because he was forced to. Instead he offers Castiel a shower in the larger bathroom.

Castiel is hesitant to accept, but he does. Dean offers him two towels in the hallway outside of the bathroom.

Castiel takes them gently, and looks down at them. When he looks back up at Dean, his blue eyes are slightly glazed over. “I cannot fathom the words to describe to you how thankful I am for you in this very moment,” his voice shakes ever so slightly. “I know I am the Angel but I think God has sent me to you.”

Castiel's words almost make Dean want to cry himself, but he swallows it down and nods. “You're safe here. I swear it. So enjoy that shower. Take as long as you need and use whatever you find in there if you need it.” Dean says, and leaves it at that. He's not much for sentimental things. Castiel nods and shuts the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) remember to do all the stuff and I might update again tonight! Lots of good stuff happening in the plot. I'm gonna try to keep things going and no boring chapters :) love you guys and thank you


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this one but I'm posting it anyways. Thank you

When Castiel gets out of his shower, he's in the same clothes Dean gave him before. When he comes into the living room where Dean is watching Tv, he draws his attention. Dean turns around and his eyebrows arch. Castiel's wings aren't as muddy and matted as they were, but they aren't as bad. His hair is still wet but it looks cleaner. His skin is no longer speckled with dirt, now it's a clean Olive tone with freckles scattered here and there.

“How was the shower?” Dean asks.

“Very amazing. Thank you. I may have used all the hot water. I'm sorry.” Castiel admits, fiddling with his fingers.

“It's no problem,” Dean laughs. “It'll heat up again soon enough. Do you want to watch TV? You can change the channel if you want.” Dean says as he stands.

“I don't want to run you out of your own living space, Dean.” Dean's name coming out of Castiel's mouth makes Dean's hairs stand on end. Dean shakes it away.

“You're not. I need to make a trip to the store,” Dean mentions, grabbing his coat. “No more eggs and I'm almost out of milk. Do you want anything? Anything you want to try?”

“I've never been to a grocery store. I don't know what they carry.” Castiel admits as he furrows his brow at the TV remote.

“Okay, I'll pick some things up for you to try then. I'm going to lock the doors. If anyone knocks, don't answer it.” Dean says as he opens the front door. “I'll be back as soon as possible.”

Castiel nods wearily, untrusting of being there by himself. “I don't know about being alone. What if someone finds me?”

Dean shakes his head. “They won't if you do as I said. So keep everything locked. Don't answer anyone.” He points at Castiel and locks the door behind him. He slides into the Impala and turns it on, cranking up the heat right away.

The grocery store is only a few minutes down the road. When he gets there he grabs what he needs first. He gets a few cartons of eggs, and a few gallons of milk. He's sure to go through food with Castiel making up for all the meals he's missed. Dean doesn't mind it though. He's happy he can make the Angel feel safe and comfortable. He's honestly surprised he got the Angels trust, if that's what this is, this quickly. It's scary thinking no one has been even decently nice to him in all the years the Angels have been down.

Dean starts to load the buggy up with junk food and a couple microwaveable dinners. He grabs chips, cookies, some chocolates, and two big pies. He makes sure to load up on some veggies too, just in case Castiel ends up being a health freak like his brother.

At the checkout he pays more than he wanted, but loads his car up with everything anyways. He checks his clock and sees he's only been gone about an hour. When he comes home, he unlocks the door and Castiel is nowhere to be found.

“Castiel?” Dean shouts through the house. “It's just me, Dean. Where are you?” Dean walks around the house and finds Castiel back in the basement, curled in the corner. “Castiel?”

Castiel jumps, eyes wide and body tense until he sees Dean. “Oh. I'm sorry. I heard the door open and I came down here just in case.”

Dean shakes his head. “It's okay. I bought some things for you to taste if you want.”

“I'm actually tired,” Castiel says hesitantly. “Is it okay if I sleep?”

Dean's taken back by the question but nods. “Of course. I have a bed for you so you don't have to sleep down here in this cold.”

Castiel blinks at him, but stands. He follows Dean up the stairs silently towards the hallway. He goes further past the bathroom to the last door at the end of the hall. Dean opens the room up and flicks the light on. Inside is just a bed with a night stand. The bed is a queen size, made to perfection with a thick comforter and four pillows. At the end of the bed is an extra blanket. On the night stand is just a lamp, with a drawer.

Castiel stutters. “I- uh- thank you. Very much.” The bed looks so inviting. It looks cozy and warm.

“No problem. I'll be around if you need anything. Sleep as much as you want.”

Castiel nods as Dean shuts the door behind him. Castiel turns the light off, and climbs into the bed. His wings fan out and relax against the mattress. He sinks into the pillows and gets warm under the blanket quickly. Before he knows it, he's out like a light.

Dean doesn't notice as the hours go by and it's his own bed time, and still no Castiel. After he brushes his teeth and takes his bedtime piss, he opens the door to see Castiel on his stomach with his wings relaxed over top of him like a shield. He looks peaceful. Dean leaves him alone. He figures if he needs anything he will wake up.

So, Dean goes to sleep.

He makes it to 3:26AM before he wakes up to noises coming from the guest room. He groggily sits up in bed and rubs a hand over his face. He thinks he's just hearing things until he hears a loud sob coming from Castiel's room again.

Suddenly he's out of bed and barging into the room. In the dark he can see Castiel's wings slightly covering him like a shield. Dean carefully walks around the bed to see Castiel's hand clamped over his mouth to try to muffle his cries.

“C-Castiel?” Dean asks wearily.

Castiel's eyes snap open, and he gasps. He falls off the other side of the bed trying to get away.

“Shit!” Dean curses, jogging around the other side and squatting down. “I didn't mean to scare you. I heard you, uh crying. I came to check on you.”

Castiel continues to cry into his knees. Dean doesn't know how to calm someone crying down. That's probably the thing he's most bad at.

“Will you, um, tell me what's wrong?”

"I-I'm sorry I had a-a nightmare,” Castiel's voice is squeaky and high pitched, with his sniffles in between. “I-I woke up and realized I was here. That's when I started crying. I'm sorry. I-I'll try to stop. I'm sorry I woke up. I'm sorry,”

“Shh,” Dean hushed him, but doesn't come closer. “Don't be sorry. I was just worried about you.” Dean stands. “If you want to move to the couch and watch some TV you can. I need some more shut eye before I face the day, besides it's…” he glances at his watch, “3:45 in the morning.”

Castiel nods, and fiddles with his feathers on his hurt wing. “I'll-I'll go to the living room if that's alright.”

“Sure,” Dean nods. He leads the way and makes sure Castiel has everything he might need. A bottle of water, some blankets, pillows, and a bag of chips ahoy cookies. “If you need anything-anything at all, call for me.”

Castiel nods, and settles into the couch with his good wing thrown over the back of the couch like a throw and the other laying gently beside of him. He runs his fingers through the wing as Dean leaves the room.

And with that, Dean goes back to sleep. 


	5. Grooming

Dean wakes up and finds out Castiel is asleep again, snoring softly on the couch with one wing thrown over him like a blanket. The sunlight is pouring through the windows despite the closed blinds. Castiel’s muddy feathers catch Dean’s attention when he goes to open the blinds. He stops and bends lower to look at them closer. They’re still matted together, dull with dirt and what looks like dried blood. The fracture is healing nicely, though, but Dean suspects it won’t heal straight again. Not without going to the hospital to have it re-broke then put back together properly with a cast and medications.

Castiel stirs in his sleep, feathers trying to ruffle, but they’re stuck together. It must hurt, like having your toes or fingers stuck together. Dean stands before Castiel’s eyes blink open. They’re bluer than Dean’s ever seen them with the light hitting them sideways, lighting them up from the inside and making them a vibrant sky blue, with swirls of sapphire in them. They’ve got to be some of the prettiest eyes Dean’s ever seen. And framing them are the blackest eyelashes, thick and long to match his hair. He’s got olive skin, naturally tan, with freckles, ever so faintly scattered across his nose and cheeks. Dean doesn’t realize he’s staring until Castiel frowns and tries to ruffle his feathers again, and winces in pain.

“My feathers are very dirty,” he grumbles, trying to rake his fingers through them as he sits up. “I can’t get them clean in the shower and it’s starting to get painful. I somehow managed to unclog my glands but they’re clogging again,”

Dean frowns. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Castiel frowns at Dean, subconsciously rubbing his feathers. His fingertips slowly turn brown. “Well, yes, but…” Castiel looks down, and his cheeks heat, “Generally only other Angels groom Angels, unless we’re in captivity. Then we don’t have  much of a choice,” His voice lowers to a murmur.

Dean scratches his cheek. He sees the Angel grooming kits at the store all the time, but he doesn’t want to make the Angel feel weird or like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. “I’ll only do it if you’re comfortable with it, otherwise you can keep trying at it in the shower. I can get you some of that feather soap stuff,” 

Castiel seems to visibly relax. “Will you?” He pleads, almost. Dean nods, and laughs, “Yeah, sure will. I’ll run down to the store and grab some real quick, so you can shower while I make us some breakfast. And if that doesn’t help, we can figure something else out.”

Castiel seems happy with that response, and lets Dean go without much worry about being left alone. It doesn’t take Dean long at the store. Despite the Angel grooming aisle being long and full of different products in different scents, uses, and for Angels of different ages, he manages to find something that sounds about right. It’s called Grime-No-More Feather Soap for Adult Angels. Dean gets unscented, because the only other scents the grocery store carries are Jasmine, Lavender, and Tropical Fruit. He doesn’t think Castiel would choose any of those, so he has to go bother an employee to go check in their stock room for unscented. Luckily they have a few bottles left, so he gets them all. They’re $15.95 a piece, but it says it’s guaranteed to loosen and remove built up dirt or it’s a full refund. He also finds an unscented lotion for the feathers, supposedly to put moisture and shine back into them. That’s $20 a bottle, so he only gets one. 

When he gets back, he shows Castiel what he got. He seems happy enough with the items, and disappears into the bathroom with one bottle of the soap and the only bottle of lotion. While Castiel showers, Dean puts on a shit ton of eggs and bacon, and even makes a few big pancakes. He contemplates putting some fruit on them, but decides to let Castiel try the fruit before he puts them all over the pancakes.

Before he can pull out the hot bacon, he hears Castiel call for him. Inside the steamy bathroom and behind the thick shower curtains, Castiel peeks his head out. His hair is splattered across his forehead blacker than tar, with water dripping from his eyelashes.

“I...uh, I can’t reach the base of my wings. I was wondering if you could….uh,”

Dean nods, “Sure,” and has Castiel open the curtains enough to show his wings.  They look a lot cleaner, and shiny under the water, but once they’re dry is when he’ll know if the soap worked or not. He tries to use gentle force when scrubbing at the grime underneath of his finger tips. The dirt comes off in clumps and turns the soap brown, and the suds start to dwindle. Eventually he seems to get it all out, and it sure takes him long enough with how massive and thick his wings are. Faintly he smells bacon burning.

“Oh shit!” He hisses, “Bacon’s burning. Go ahead and rinse off and we’ll try to get some of that lotion on them.” He tells Castiel, before he scurries out of the bathroom. 

The bacon is….saveable, but the strips are much more crispy than Dean likes them. A few minutes later, Castiel comes out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean can’t help but notice his ribs sticking out, belly sunken in. He looks small and fragile without Dean’s baggy clothes to hide it.

“I seem to have forgotten clothes,” Castiel mentions. Dean nods and manages to find some basketball shorts and a t-shirt. They’re too big and conceal everything Dean just saw. 

“Here, bacon’s a bit too done but it should still be good.” Dean says as he piles a bunch of food onto a plate for Castiel. “Oh, and I got some fruit for you. It’s not for me but I figured you might like to try it. It’s good for you.” He says, pushing the box of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and some bananas over towards Castiel. 

Castiel smells them and tastes them all, and each fruit ends up on top of his pancakes with a minimal amount of syrup over them. It makes Dean happy inside, seeing Castiel love the fresh fruit that he probably never got the priviledge to have before. In just a few weeks, the Angel has come a long way from rummaging through a garbage can and shivering with fear. 

“How’s your wings?” Dean asks as he watches Castiel devour the plate, drinking orange juice to wash it down. Dean drinks his coffee like it’s a lifeline, because, well, it is.

Castiel doesn’t smile with his mouth, but more with his eyes. “They’re much cleaner, thank you for buying the soap. But the lotion didn’t help. It’s weighing them down.”

Dean frowns, and Castiel is right. His wings look wet, and heavy, but not shiny. “Is there anything I can do?”

Castiel’s mouth twists, and his shoulders shrug. “Well...there..is,” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Dean mentions again. 

Castiel shakes his head, “It’s….it’s okay. My wings need groomed, and I can’t do it. And like you said, we have to have paperwork to go to a wing specialist. So it’s my only other option.” Castiel finally says, before continuing.”Angels produce a natural oil from their wing glands, and that’s what’s supposed to keep our wings clean and shiny. Not lotion or soap. But traditionally, only Angels groom Angels. Or….someone very close or special to the Angel. But in this case I have no other options.”

Dean nods, and tries not to take it personally that Dean isn’t someone close or special. He shrugs it off, and gears up for it once they’re done with breakfast. Castiel goes back and washes the lotion off his wings with the soap again, and gives them a ruffle like birds do. They’re practically dry as a bone, dull, but not dirty anymore. Most of the grime is gone, but they’re dry. Castiel looks very confined in his own body, avoiding eye contact and careful not to touch Dean as he kneels in front of him. Dean sits on the couch, legs spread just enough for Castiel to fit between them, wings towards Dean.

He understands now how personal it feels, almost intimate. He tries not to let it get to him, but it’s picking away at his mind.  Castiel briefly explains where his glands are located, just beneath the base of his wings, attached to his skin. Dean finds them in no time, and his mouth is dry as a desert when he touches them. It’s  _ very  _ intimate. They’re hard, and only as big as a dollar coin. They’re like rocks, with no give.

“Are they hard?” Castiel asks, worry in his voice.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, like rocks.” Castiel makes some sort of sound beneath him. “Is that not a good thing?”

Castiel shakes his head, “No...they’re clogged. It may take a while to get them soft again. They should feel like small balloons with very little air in them,” 

Dean frowns. They feel nothing like the description at all. But, he starts massaging them nonetheless, just like Castiel said they needed to be. It takes half an hour for them to start softening up, and suddenly Dean’s fingers get slightly damp with a thin oil that almost evaporates but leaves his fingers soft. The more he massages, the softer they get from there, and eventually the liquid is dripping steadily from the glands.

“They’re, uh..leaking,” Dean says, hands covered in it and the stuff pooling on his wood floors.

Castiel inhales sharply, “Catch it with a bowl. They’re going to release more than usual,”

Dean is quick to grab a big bowl from the kitchen, a mixing bowl big enough for cookie dough. He sits it underneath the glands and watches as it starts to pool at the bottom of the bowl. Castiel says nothing as Dean massages them more, getting more oil from them and letting it coat his hands in a thick layer. He does what common sense tells him to and starts raking his hands through Castiel’s dark feathers, massaging each one with the oil. The bowl starts to fill up quickly, but Dean still keeps massaging the small masses on Castiel’s spine.

Eventually the room smells different with the aroma of the oil. Dean can’t put his finger on what it smells like, but it’s captivating and relaxes his muscles. Castiel’s wings transform under Dean’s fingers. The dull, matte black feathers come to life. Dean only expected them to shine, but now there’s a vivid color to them when the sunlight hits them. They’re holographic under the light, shining beautiful neon colors of the rainbow. They’re the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen in his life. 

Eventually Castiel’s glands are empty, and nothing comes out of them anymore. But the big mixing bowl is half way full, enough for Dean to dunk his whole hand in. But he doesn’t, only scoops the oil and makes sure to saturate each feather like the one before it. Eventually, each and every feather shines beautifully, black but colorful. Greens, blues, purples, pinks, oranges and reds. Colors Dean can’t even make up a name for. They’re almost glittery.

“All done,” Dean says, and notices it had taken him 2 hours to do the large span of Castiel’s wings. “We have some leftover, though.”

Castiel nods, “They’ll need a second coat before tomorrow. My glands won’t be full again for another week, at least. My feathers will suck up all the oil within a few hours with how dry they were.”

Dean understands the math Castiel is throwing at him, and nods. “Okay, I’ll do it again before we hit the hay. No big deal.” Dean pats Castiel’s shoulders, oil already dry on Dean’s skin. He picks up the heavy bowl and leaves it on the kitchen counter while he washes his hands. The soap doesn’t do much for it, because his hands are still unbelievably soft and smell like the oil that makes him feel warm and relaxed inside.

And a weird excitement looms over him knowing he gets to groom Castiel’s beautiful wings again, but how Castiel feels about it is a whole other chapter.


	6. Interstellar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Castiel's perspective and a view of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to rename all of the chapters with a word that's important to the chapter. This chapter is called Interstellar. :) Hope y'all enjoy the update.

Castiel’s wings sucked up every last drop of the oil just like he said it would. The beautiful holographic colors faded with time, and the hint of them was just barely visible under the lights in Dean’s living room. They sat in the same position, ready for the next coat of wing oil before they went to bed.

Castiel still sat tense beneath Dean, but Dean doesn’t expect otherwise at this moment. He dips his hand in the oil and starts in the center, ready to work his way outward. The oil doesn’t immediately begin to seep and soak into the wings this time, but more lay on top. The shine of the colors are more vibrant than the first time. Dean knows his way around with the wings a little bit better this second time, and speeds through it. He doesn’t have a drop of oil left in the bowl, and every wing is saturated. The scent of the oil still makes Dean weak at the knees, and he still can’t fathom as to why.

Castiel gives him brief smile as he stands. “Thank you. They’re feeling much better now that they have oil in them,” He says, ducking towards the hallway. “I really appreciate it.”

Dean nods, “No problem, Cas,” He’s not sure where the nickname comes from, but Castiel doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey, if you have another nightmare and can’t sleep, come get me, alright?”

Castiel nods, “Okay, Dean.” He disappears into the backroom within an instant, leaving Dean to clean up the oil bowl and the towel Castiel sat on to prevent Dean’s floors from getting slick. Once everything is clean, Dean shuts all the lights off and heads to bed. Briefly he wonders if Cas will be okay, since he had such a horrid nightmare the night before. But he guesses he’ll cross the bridge if he comes to it, and heads to bed.

~~~

Castiel wakes with tear stained cheeks for the second night in a row, gasping for air and wheezing in the process. His wings are ruffled, and his eyes aren’t adjusted to the night. It’s too dark, and it makes his chest fill up with anxiety. Castiel hurries out of bed and doesn’t make a noise as he slips into Dean’s room, ready to wake him since Dean told him to. But when he looks down, he frowns.

Dean’s face is very peaceful, no fine lines or wrinkles. His mouth is slightly open, drool barely coming out. One leg is sticking out of the thick blankets, and one arm is above his head. He looks cozy, and comfortable. Castiel doesn’t want to wake Dean’s peaceful sleep because Castiel  _ couldn’t  _ sleep peacefully. It wasn’t fair, or right. But Castiel can’t move from the place he stood.

His wings are feeling much better now, no longer stuck with grime or old blood. The nasty stench no longer lingered underneath his nose or in the air around him. He’s surprised Dean hadn’t notice, or said anything if he did notice. The familiar smell of his own wing oil is soothing to him, reminding him of a time before Humans, when little Angels with wings too big would practice grooming each other. Picking out broken feathers, oiling them, brushing them. Something that was familiar, and relaxing, and allowed Castiel to spend time with his friends and family. But the feeling wasn’t quite the same with Dean doing it. 

Generally only close friends and family groom each others wings, and not only is Dean a human – something practically against the rules up in Heaven – he’s neither a close friend or family. But he is Castiel’s savior, something sacred to him. If Dean hadn’t found Castiel that rainy night, what would have come of him? Someone would have found him eventually, and he possibly could have been put into another home, something worse than before. But he wonders what could be worse than being changed to a sadistic man’s basement floor, barely getting fed scraps and never getting to see the light of day, other than through the cracks in the foundation that could fall and end Castiel’s life in an instant.

But back then, that’s exactly what Castiel wanted to happen. Every time that basement door creaked open, and those footsteps echoed through the dark room, Castiel’s muscles shook with fear. He never knew the man’s name. Angel trafficking was very sneaky and secretive business, despite it being plastered all over billboards, radio stations, and newspapers, the actual business of it was very quiet. When Castiel was sold to an unnamed, masked man at a masquerade party, all dressed up with heavy jewelry weighing his wings down, yet naked to the people before him. He remembers their eyes looking at him, every crevice and aspect of his body, face, and voice, wondering how much they should bid on him.

Angels get sold many different ways. Sometimes through companies, where clients can choose their Angel. Others like Castiel, through a bidding. And once they’re sold, no one cares about the conditions they’re put into. A man dressed in an all-black tux and masquerade mask won his bidding. He was never told the man’s name, and rarely saw his face. He was given all of Castiel’s papers, official ownership. But none of the papers were ever used. Anytime Castiel broke a bone, or had an injury or sickness, he was never taken to the hospital. 

Somewhere in the system, Castiel lost his grace. He doesn’t remember when, or where, but he remembers a white room. His wings were still interstellar, hiding between the fabrics of stars. He was still magical back then, something to gawk at. He was never told what procedure he was going to go through, only that it had to be done. A man took his grace, hid it in a jar, 4 years ago when all the Angels fell. Castiel suspects it’s gone for good, never to be seen again. His wings are doomed to be out in the open, weighing his human body down for the rest of his limited lifespan. His immortality was taken, his infinite health and ability to heal himself and others. Everything that made him holy. Now he’s a mere human with bird wings attached to him, not even with the ability to fly.

“Cas?” Dean grumbles in his sleep. Castiel jumps, and frowns. He hadn’t realized how long he’s been standing there. “You alright?”

“I- uh, yes. I’m fine. I had a nightmare but I’m alright now,” Castiel says, disappearing from the room before Dean can reply. He lays back down in the bed Dean had blessed him with, and lets his wings form in a cocoon around him, his only layer of protection in this all too human world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Make sure to do all the cool things down there. Like, comment, bookmark, whatever


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